


Mala & Ben

by aikisenshi



Series: Mala's Saga [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Bisexual Female Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demons, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Human, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Paladins, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sex, Surprise Kissing, Tieflings, Vaginal Sex, Wrath of the Righteous Campaign
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikisenshi/pseuds/aikisenshi
Summary: Malakh'mu'baraka is a Paladin of Sarenrae: goddess of healing, redemption, and swift justice to the irredeemable. Mendevian Crusader against the demons invading through the Worldwound. Being the granddaughter of a redeemed Incubus gives her a unique perspective on the Crusade, and unfortunately, unique... Needs.Bengard is incredibly intelligent, he was a street urchin, until a priestess of Sarenrae saw his genius and brought him to the temple to be educated. He has spent his life in the Temple, and libraries of Kenabres, researching esoteric lore to aid the Crusade. His childhood best friend, Mala, doesn't have much time for him anymore since she started training to be a Knight. But he hopes one day to work up the courage to tell her how he feels.Set during the events of Paizo's Wrath of the Righteous Campaign. Between fighting demon hordes, redeeming Succubi, invading the Abyss, rescuing lost family, and becoming near-Demigods, Mala and Ben must figure out what exactly they mean to each other.Work in Progress





	1. A City in Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> These are currently a collection of vignettes, mostly down-time between gaming session events. Some day I will work on writing out the plot that happened during the sessions themselves, so that this is a complete story. But until then...
> 
> Work in Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenabres, front line of the Mendevian Crusades, has been attacked. The city is in ruins, but heroes are pulling their way out of the rubble.

Malakh’mu’baraka picked her way carefully through the rubble that, only four days earlier, had been her home. In some places the stone walls of the temple had been toppled as if a gargantuan child had knocked down a stack of blocks; in other places the walls had been undermined by tunnels that had collapsed in on themselves. Streaks of soot and claw marks marred the walls that still stood. The temple of Sarenrae’s main altar, however, stood relatively unscathed in the center of the wide central atrium.

As the demon-blooded paladin crossed the courtyard, she noted the surviving acolytes and clerics shifting the rubble, gathering anything useful that they could sift from the wreckage. One or two nodded to her in passing, but most moved with numb, mechanical movements. The dead had been cleared out the day before, but Mala still saw bloodstains here and there among the stones. She raised her hazel eyes to the sky and whispered a prayer for the souls who had returned to Pharasma, Lady of the Graves’, care, and added a selfish plea to her own goddess that her loved ones were not among those souls.

The city of Kenabres was a wasteland, the areas that had not been reduced to rubble by the strange tunneling demons, or burned by demonic (or uncontrolled mundane) fires, were being quickly abandoned as residents fled deeper into Mendev. Fleeing away from the fallen border city that until four days ago had been the bastion holding back the demon hordes beyond the Worldwound.

No one knew why the majority of the demons had vanished less than a day after their initial sudden appearance in a blast of flame and shattering ground. Mala could not banish the horror of seeing the balor lord Khorramzadeh appear in the sky. Then the devastating sight of the demon defeating Terendelev, the city’s ancient silver dragon protector. What had happened to the city after the dragon’s fall, Mala did not know until today. The next thing she had known was waking up in the caverns beneath Kenabres, with a vague memory of Terendelev casting a spell at her as the ground cracked open and crumbled beneath her feet.

Mala came to a stop beside the altar and unbuckled the strap on her dusty, battered helm. She carefully guided the custom-built armor piece up and past the glossy black demon horns that sprouted from just above her forehead and curved up and back about an inch above her head, following the curve of her skull for about six inches before ending in sharp points that curved upwards slightly. The tiefling woman shook out her auburn hair as she set the helm on the flagstones beside the altar. She removed her studded gauntlets and tucked them under her belt. The paladin wiped a hand down her grey-skinned face, trying to wipe away a portion of the sweat, grime and blood that speckled her face.

Mala unbuckled a belt pouch and withdrew a pair of shining silver dragon scales the size of her palm. The scales had been found by one of her new acquaintances in the rubble they had dug themselves out of beneath the city. Mala placed the scales on the altar and knelt before it, resting her horned head against the smooth granite. Mala sighed in exhaustion and began to pray.

“Thank you Dawnflower, for your protection as my companions and I made our way back to the surface. I have been told that Terendelev’s body was taken by the demons, I do not know what they intend for it beyond a trophy, but please do what you can to protect her sacrifice. I have not found grandfather yet, please watch over him wherever he has gone--”

“MALA!”

The paladin’s prayer was interrupted by a frantic shout from the edge of the courtyard, she was on her feet in an instant, instinctively drawing her scimitar and shrugging her shield off her back, the quick-draw straps carrying it down her shoulder and onto her arm, ready to defend.

She had only a second to recognize the black haired, tan-skinned human male dashing towards her. His clerical vestments dirty and torn. It was Bengard, a childhood friend and one of the temple scholars. He crashed into her, pressing her against the altar as he caught her grime-smeared face in his hands and kissed her, deeply and passionately, though somewhat inexpertly.

“Thank the goddess,” the bookish young man gasped as his lips left Mala’s. “You're alive! When I saw the plaza collapse, I thought-, I... um...” His rush of words trailed off as he noticed Mala’s stunned silence and realized what he had just done.

“Did-- did you just, what--?” She finally stuttered as he snatched his hands away from her face. He sheepishly took a half step back, no longer pressing her against the stone altar.

“I love you, Mala, I love you,” he spoke emphatically, his intensely intelligent brown eyes holding her gaze captive for a moment. Then his words began tumbling out in a rush again, his hands gesturing as he rambled.

“I have for years but have never been brave enough to admit it, you're so strong and sure of yourself, and I’m just a weakling scholar stuck in my tomes, that couldn't possibly deserve you, but hoped maybe someday I could prove myself. I wanted to try to talk to you on Armasse after the festivities, so I followed you up to the plaza, but when the Wardstone Keep exploded and demons appeared and I saw the ground collapse around you--.”

Ben’s voice caught suddenly, he nervously cleared his throat before continuing. “I thought I had lost you forever, Mala. Master Jazeel said he knew you were alive and making your way back, but I didn't believe him, not really, and I’ve been hating myself for not telling you how I feel, so I’m telling you now, and...um...”

Ben raised his hands, palms out, and slowly took another half step back from Mala.

“Please don't hurt me.”

Mala realized she was still wielding her scimitar and shield. She had unconsciously placed them between herself and the young scholar’s verbal onslaught. The curved edge of her weapon was resting against Bengard’s chest, casting a soft glow on his thinly-bearded chin.

Mala took a slow, deliberate breath, lowering her weapon. Without a word, she turned to face the altar again, carefully placed the sword across it, and laid her shield on the ground, leaning it against her helm. She laid her hands flat atop the altar and leaned on them for support, closing her eyes. She gave herself a moment to process Bengard’s rambling confession, and slow her own rapid heartbeat.

“Let me… get back to you on that, Bengard,” the young paladin stuttered, “I--. So much going on--.”

He loved her? They had been friends for most of their lives, ever since Sister Odene, the temple’s “head of household”, had caught the scrawny youth trying to steal some food in the market, in a brilliantly ingenious manner. Sister Odene couldn't bear to see such a brilliant mind lost in the streets, and brought the boy back to the temple. Ben quickly became one of the few children who played with six-year-old Mala. Other kids were hesitant or outright scared of her strange appearance and occasional temper. Ben and Mala were nigh inseparable for years.

They had drifted apart in their teens, though, she had gone out into the mercenary camps for combat training with half-orc knight Irabeth Tirabade and her Eagle Guard. In hopes that eventually, she would get a sponsorship to one of the knightly orders in Kenabres. Bengard had delved into scholarship and long hours spent in the city libraries and Mala’s grandfather's alchemy laboratory and gardens. She saw Bengard in passing sometimes as she talked with grandfather, or as she returned home, exhausted and sore from a day of lessons in Irabeth’s camp. There was never really time for more than a quick hello. Now, in their early twenties, she did not know how she felt about Ben, she had just been too busy to even think about him, much.

“Wait,” Mala said as her head snapped up, part of Bengard’s jumbled speech suddenly registering, “Master Jazeel? You have seen my grandfather since the attack? Where is he?”

“I don't know,” Bengard shrugged, relieved to no longer be facing Mala’s sword, or standing in awkward silence while Mala was surely composing his doom for being so forward with her.

“He said he was going somewhere he would be useful, he said he knew you'd be back and to tell you he left you a message in your room, and then he just... vanished. I didn't know he was able to teleport.” The scholar’s ramble trailed off as he rubbed his chin in thought.

“Of course he can, now.” Mala replied matter-of-factly, with a hint of bitterness, “someone destroyed the Wardstone, there's nothing blocking demonic teleportation in the city any more.”

“What does that--?” Bengard began, then paused, “Wait, Master Jazeel is a demon?”

“You seriously didn't know?” Mala asked incredulously, turning her head to look at her friend. Mala sighed as the scholar shook his head in amazement.

“Where did you think my father and I--?” Mala began, gesturing vaguely towards the obviously demonic horns sprouting just above her forehead.

Bengard started to reply, but Mala waved it away.

“Never mind, later.” Gods, he could be so oblivious sometimes. It would be endearing if it wasn't so annoying.

She pointed a finger at him.

“You, stay here, I will be right back.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bengard replied absently, still processing the new information. His mentor had always _looked_ human…

 

Mala quickly made her way to her sleeping quarters, which were just off the small common room and study she shared with her grandfather. There was not a lot of structural damage in this part of the temple, but the door to their common area was shattered, smashed inwards by a tremendous force. The room beyond had been ransacked, chairs torn apart, books shredded. The door to her grandfather’s bedroom was hanging by a single hinge, but Mala went directly to her own room. She wondered who or what had been looking for something, but finding her grandfather's message was paramount.

In a hidden compartment in a bureau drawer, Mala kept the few sacred treasures she owned: a small gold-edged glass bottle (she had been told it was a baby bottle she had been given when she was a newborn). A necklace holding a small rune-covered stone and a simply-carved wooden ankh (a rural holy symbol of Sarenrae). The necklace was the only thing her father, Calden, had from Mala’s mother (besides Mala herself). Calden had given the necklace, and specific guidance on its use, to Mala the last time they had seen one another. That had been nearly seven years ago. Mala carefully put the necklace into the pouch she had removed the dragon scales from earlier.

Inside the glass bottle was a small roll of parchment. The paladin extracted and unrolled the parchment. The scroll was covered with her grandfather’s impeccable angular handwriting:

> Dearest Malakh’mu’baraka
> 
> I do not have much time, someone or something from my past has come hunting for me and I must lead it away before you return, I do not want you, too, to be a casualty of vengeance as your grandmother was.
> 
> I am sure you saw the Keep’s destruction, the Wardstone’s field blocking teleportation has failed, obviously, but there is something of its effects still active, I can feel it. Tell Bengard, take him with you to whomever takes command in Kenabres when the dust settles, they will need his intelligence and knowledge as much as they will need your shield. He is a true friend who misses your company, Mala, keep him near. I do not know if we will meet again. Remember all that you have been taught.
> 
> Goddess watch over you,
> 
> “Pa-pa”

Mala rolled up the scroll and placed it back into the bottle, it was as good a place to keep it as any. After tucking the bottle into the belt pouch as well, the paladin began to scour the room for anything useful she might need immediately.

 

Bengard’s mind often frustrated him, he could easily recall countless facts, calculations, and bits of esoteric information both arcane and divine. Subtle clues about people, though, things usually revealed through their words, habits, or mannerisms, were very difficult for him to catch. It was why he preferred to spend his time among his books and notes, things always made more sense there. He should have realized Master Jazeel was more than what he seemed, Jazeel’s knowledge of demons was too deep for the humble herbalist and potion-maker he appeared to be. The story around the temple was that Mala’s demon-blooded tiefling father, Calden, had been adopted as a baby by Master Jazeel and his late wife. Bengard had not questioned the story. Mala’s grandmother, the warrior priestess Shari, had been killed defending the city long before Ben and Mala had even been born. So she was not there to provide any insight. Calden himself had been rarely seen around the temple since Ben had come to live here. Calden was a long-range scout for the Crusade, and was often gone for months at a time. He had disappeared completely seven years ago, and was presumed dead.

The scimitar Mala had left on the altar caught the young man’s eye as he slowly paced. Ben did not recognize it, it was not the same weapon he had always seen his friend carrying (which was her grandmother’s scimitar). This sword had been glowing in her hand a few minutes before.

Bengard stopped pacing and leaned over the altar, studying the decorations on the hilt and blade. He was surprised to see symbology there relating to Iomedae, goddess of valor, justice and honor. But this was a scimitar, the favored weapon of Sarenrae. Iomedae’s weapon was a longsword. Bengard lifted the scimitar and rolled it over to inspect the other side, it contained more of the same iconography. He wondered what its story was, and what enchantments it held. He called to mind a simple orison that would allow him to detect and study the auras of the sword’s magical properties.

Bengard turned away from the altar, not wanting the temple fixture’s own powerful divine magical auras to interfere with his reading of the sword’s aura, and began reciting the orison.

“Ben, wait! Don't!”

Mala’s shout was lost in a sudden blinding pain as the strength of the sword’s magic completely overwhelmed the young scholar’s senses. Bengard collapsed, his world going suddenly blessedly black as his head hit the stone floor of the courtyard.

 

Mala sprinted through the rubble, she had returned to the courtyard soon enough to see Bengard holding _Radiance_ , then reciting something. But not soon enough for him to hear her try to warn him about the blade’s powers. Aravashnial, an accomplished Elven mage Mala and her new friends had rescued from the rubble beneath the city, had gotten a massive headache while studying the blade. Mala had no idea what it might have just done to Bengard.

“Dammit, Ben,” she growled, skidding to her knees beside her unconscious friend. His head was bleeding where it had cracked against the flagstones. Mala pressed a hand on the young man’s forehead and called upon Sarenrae’s healing light.

Mala’s hands glowed softly as the bleeding stopped, and the wound closed and healed. Bengard’s eyes fluttered open, he tried to sit up, but Mala’s hand pressed firmly on his head, dissuading him.

“Shh, be still,” she instructed, pillowing his head on her hastily removed and wadded-up cloak, “rest a moment before you try to get up.”

“I’m sorry, Ben, I should have expected you to try to inspect the sword, and warned you. Though that probably wouldn't have stopped you, would it,” she smirked, knowing Ben’s curiosity all too well.

“What in the goddess’ name is it?” Bengard groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Or I should say ‘goddesses’?”

“It is _Radiance_ , Lady Yaniel’s sword.” Mala answered, using her prehensile tail to retrieve the sword from where it had fallen to the floor out of Bengard’s grasp.

“ _Radiance_? I thought it was lost, stolen from the Keep years ago.” Bengard answered, taking the proffered sword and holding it gingerly in the air before him. “Also, it was a longsword, Yaniel was a champion of Iomedae.”

“We found it, my new companions and I, in a cultist hideout beneath the city. It _was_ a longsword, until I picked it up, then it... changed.” Mala finished with a shrug.

“How fascinating,” Bengard said with a hint of awe as he handed the scimitar back to Mala and rubbed his head, trying to dispel the ache behind his eyes. “Please let me study it sometime. When I’ve a had a bit of time to prepare, that is.”

“Sure, I’ll just stay close by to catch you so you don't crack your head again.” Mala replied, smiling down at her friend as she sheathed the scimitar in its scabbard on her hip.

Bengard smiled, then winced. “Can I get up now?”

Mala stood and reached down a hand to Bengard, he accepted it and pulled himself up. He did not release her once he was upright, however, he instead brought her hand to his lips, kissing her sword-callused fingers before holding their clasped hands against his chest and looking into her eyes.

“I really do mean what I said to you earlier, Malakh’mu’baraka,” he murmured. She opened her mouth to respond, but Ben raised a finger to forestall her.

“No, you don't need to say anything, I don't need anything from you right now besides knowing that you are alive, and that I've finally--” he paused, chuckling at himself, “--finally gotten the courage to tell you how I feel.”

Mala moved closer, kissing Bengard’s hand in return, then sighed in exhaustion and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, my friend,” she whispered, “I will get back to you, I promise.”

Ben wrapped his free arm across Mala’s shoulders and gave her a quick, friendly squeeze. “Now, we’ve got a city to help rebuild, don't we?”

“We do.” Mala answered, lifting her head and squaring her shoulders. “Let's go.”


	2. Special Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to 5 years earlier, Mala's grandfather has taken her out into the forest for some special training.

Mala was tired, and bored, she had been trudging behind her grandfather for hours. She led a temperamental donkey carrying food and gear for a multi-day outdoor excursion. The donkey, like most animals did, kept trying to stay as far away from her as possible. She had received no explanation for their journey besides ‘special training’.

“How far out of the city are we going, Pa-pa?” Mala asked, trying not to whine. She wished they could have hired horses to ride, but, like the donkey, horses did not like her very much. She had yet to find one that would let her approach, much less ride.

“Far enough,” he replied shortly, glancing back towards the city walls and outlying crusader camps they had left far behind. They were now entering the deep woods north of Kenabres.

“Far enough for what?” Mala grumbled.

“To be outside the range of effect of the Wardstone.” Jazeel sighed, giving in to her questioning, “and out of sight.”

Mala’s eyes widened. There was only one real reason her grandfather would want to be out of the city and out of sight. He must be planning to spend some length of time in his true form. He could not drop his human disguise within the city without experiencing extreme pain. The city Wardstone’s anti-demon magical field killed demons, even disguised ones, within seconds. Grandfather had an amulet that he was given many years ago that protected him from the Wardstone’s effects, but it was only fully effective when he was in human form.

The teenage tiefling couldn't remember when she had first learned about her grandfather’s true nature, it was something she had just always known. An explanation (and sometimes apology) for her and her father’s demon-spawn traits. But she had never actually seen her grandfather out of human form before. Changing physical form was something only her grandfather, a full blooded demon, was able to do, it had unfortunately not been handed down to Jazeel’s child and grandchild, they were stuck with their demonic horns, odd skin color and barbed tails.

After a few more minutes, Grandfather paused and looked around, they were alone on a somewhat overgrown logging trail.

“I think we are far enough away,” he announced, and abruptly vanished. He reappeared a few yards further down the trail. “Yes, we are.”

Mala blinked in confusion as her grandfather reappeared in front of her. “What just happened?”

“Demonic teleportation, the Wardstones block it, we are far enough outside the stone’s effects now. This does also mean that other demons can teleport into the area, so we must be vigilant.”

They left the trail and picked their way through the woods to a clearing that looked like a good secluded campsite. They went to work setting up camp.

\--

When the gear was unpacked and the donkey was fed and tethered at the far edge of the camp, Jazeel called Mala to the circle of ground they had cleared of major tripping hazards.

“Bring your weapons.” he instructed.

Mala pulled on a padded practice jacket and readied her scimitar and shield. She noted that her grandfather had removed the long acolyte’s overcoat he usually wore, and was dressed in only a simple long tunic and pants. He walked to the center of the makeshift sparring circle.

Mala was dubious, she had never seen her grandfather do any sort of real combat or even sparring. He stood there now without any weapon at all. The apprentice paladin joined him in the ring and readied herself anyway.

“Defend yourself!” her grandfather announced, and abruptly _changed_.

Suddenly, the most devastatingly handsome being she had ever seen was standing before her, he was over six feet tall, not counting the pair of curving horns sprouting from just above his forehead. He was dusky grey skinned, with massive batlike wings that stretched out wide with a leathery snap, then folded, their tips brushing the ground as they relaxed. The demon’s tunic stretched tight across a perfectly-sculpted chest and abs, his pants outlined muscular legs that ended in goat-like cloven hooves. A long barb-tipped tail much like Mala’s own trailed sinuously behind. Powerful looking arms reached out to her in a beckoning gesture, and the demon spoke in a voice that was deep and achingly masculine.

“Come to me.”

Mala felt a rush of an overwhelmingly strong sensation. It was familiar, she'd tasted its like before while watching some of the more attractive acolytes in the temple doing labor or sparring: an ache and a fire that quickened the breath and clouded the mind. This wildfire of pure raw lust, however, was orders of magnitude more than the flickering candle flames she'd felt before. Without realizing what she was doing, she dropped her weapons and approached the incubus, shedding her padded jacket and working on the lacings of her clothing as she went.

The creature spoke her name, the sound of it nearly drove her mad. She was close to him now, she reached out and grabbed a handful of his clothing, pulling herself towards him desperately. He intercepted her other hand as she continued trying to tear off her own clothing.

“Mala! Stop.” Jazeel begged, catching his bespelled granddaughter by the wrists. “Dear Goddess, help me! I’m sorry, Mala. Wake up!”

The words barely penetrated the fog, all Mala heard was the glorious voice calling her name again. She leaned towards him, aching with the need to obey the demon’s initial command in the most intimate way.

“Malakh’mu’baraka! Hear me, get control of yourself.” Jazeel commanded. Yet she persisted, making small moans and grunts of frustration as he continued to hold her at arm's length.

Jazeel abruptly swept the girl off her feet and carried her away into the forest. The next thing Mala knew there was a splash and she was up to her neck in icy mountain stream water, then she was being hauled out again. The tiefling girl sat on the rocky bank in shock, shaking the fog from her head, the cold forcing her to take deep sharp breaths.

“Mala?” asked the voice, still a bit deeper and more resonant than she was used to, but now recognizable as her grandfather’s. Mala shivered with more than just the chill from the water. As her mind cleared she was overcome with a profound disgust mingled with shame at what she had just tried to do, with her _grandfather_. What in the goddess’ name had come over her?

Mala glanced up at the incubus crouched beside her, watching her intently. She slowly started to scoot away from him, glancing around for her discarded weapons and realizing she was yards away from the sparring circle where she had left them, and half of her clothing.

“Look at me Mala,” Jazeel commanded, Mala stopped edging away, but did not meet his eyes, her face flushed in embarrassment and shame. She brought her knees up to her chest and hid her face against them, wrapping her tail and arms around her shins to draw them closer. She heard her grandfather sit down beside her, bestial hooves scraping against the river rocks.

“I am sorry, Mala,” Jazeel apologized with a sorrowful sigh. “I did not mean for that to happen quite that way, I forget how young and inexperienced you are in some things, and how overwhelming my powers can be in this form, especially to young women.”

His hand gently, but forcefully, lifted her chin, she looked up at him, he was still devastatingly handsome, and young. Minus his obviously demonic features, he looked like a human male of about twenty-five, in peak physical condition. Though the overwhelming aura of physical lust had abated, Mala still had to forcefully remind herself that this was the same being as the kind, slightly greying man in his apparent late forties that she knew and loved. She attempted to turn away in shame again.

“No, look at me, Malakyeh,” he said sternly, his voice taking on the hard lecture tone she knew all too well. He cupped her head between his hands and locked his demon-red gaze with her human-like hazel one.

His voice softened, “Nothing that just happened was your fault, _at all_. I have not used my power to control another being, with evil intent, since I left the Abyss fifty years ago. May the Dawnflower’s flames consume me if I ever do use it for evil again. Be assured, I made a sacred vow decades ago to never, EVER again use my power to seduce someone, and I will NEVER violate you, or your trust in me, do you understand?”

“Yes, Pa-pa.” Mala whispered, nodding and taking a deep shuddering breath. “B-but w-why--?”

Jazeel removed his hands from the sides of Mala’s face and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I did it intending to show you that there are attacks that cannot be countered with sword and shield, and my kin are masters of them. We must train your mind to recognize when you are being magically manipulated so that you can better resist it.”

Mala attempted to reply, but her teeth were chattering with the cold.

“Let's get you dried off and warm, and we will talk.” He reached out to pick her up, but paused, raising an eyebrow and tilting his horned head in an unspoken question of permission. Mala nodded and lifted an arm, hooking it around his neck as he gathered her up like he had so many times when she was a child. Though, Mala admitted to herself, she'd never had a wing wrapped around her like a warm leathery cloak any of those times.

 ---

“Can you really fly with those?” Mala inquired, once the fire, a set of dry clothes and some hot tea had her recovered enough to talk clearly.

“Of course,” Jazeel said, with a hint of wistful pride, stretching his wings to their full extent, indulging in a moment of vain admiration. “I was once one of the fastest in my liege’s forces. Though I haven't flown for nearly fifty years, I have no idea how good I would be at it now.”

Jazeel folded his wings again, draping them across his shoulders like a cloak as he retrieved the kettle from a rock beside the fire. He poured the steaming water over a spoonful of medicinal herbs, as Mala had seen him do nearly every day her entire life.

“Your… ‘liege’?” Mala asked.

“The demon lord I served,” he answered, his voice somber. “You have learned about the power structures, such as they are, in the Abyss.”

Mala nodded. “I’ve just never heard you talk about your life… before.”

“It could barely be called a life,” Jazeel replied, grimacing slightly as he drank his herbal concoction. “Would you want to dwell on a past of pure evil? It is long behind me, I have worked hard to atone for it.”

“What did you do?” Mala asked. Jazeel raised an eyebrow at his granddaughter, and she hastily clarified. “I mean, in general, your job, for your lord?”

“Whatever she asked: delivering messages, gathering information, performing executions, occasionally getting loaned out to her ally to help with his-- breeding program.” Jazeel’s voice trailed off into silence as he stared into the campfire, lost in memory.

“Breeding?” Mala prompted.

“Tieflings, cambions, and other various part-demons are valuable, though expendable, soldiers and spies.” Jazeel explained. “My liege’s ally had a constant need for ‘host mothers’, and demons to keep them producing. A few of the mortal women were willing participants, most were… not.”

Mala’s heart ached at the look of guilt and absolute sorrow that ravaged her grandfather’s face as he recalled the systematic kidnapping, rape and enslavement of hundreds of mortal women. He drained the rest of his mug in a single gulp and took a deep breath, forcibly banishing the memories before continuing.

“My specialty, however, was information, whether researched, interrogated, tortured, or charmed out of some being. Though mostly researched, I was as close as you’d get to a scholar among my ‘brothers’.”

“Why did you leave?” Mala prodded, setting aside her empty mug.

“Well, one day, a breeding slave I favored told me she loved me. Demons consider love a laughable weakness, felt only by lesser beings. Though it was nice to not have to force her or use my power on her, and we actually had long fascinating conversations about her life before being captured. I became somewhat obsessed by what she said she felt for me. I kept visiting with her even after she became pregnant and was moved to the other part of the slave pens. I began to actively research “love”. What did it mean to love? Was what she felt truly love? I discovered instances where captives became enamored of and fanatically devoted to their captors, but most mortals did not consider this ‘love’. I never got a chance to find out whether what she felt for me was truly love or some sort of… mental illness brought on by captivity. After she gave birth to the child and given the small amount of time to physically recover, she was sent back to the breeding compound. That same day she was killed in a jealous rage by one of my brothers. She had refused him, saying she wanted to be with only me.”

“That day I felt something I had never felt before: remorse. I felt regret for treating her differently than I had treated the other breeding stock, for giving her the illusion that I might protect her and keep her for my own. I stopped visiting the breeders and threw myself into my other duties. Within a few weeks, however, I found out part of the reason for my liege’s participation in her ally’s breeding program: to keep incubi passions under control to some degree. It became impossible to focus on anything else besides that carnal Need, and I eventually broke down and returned to the compound. This time, though, I saw through different eyes. I actually looked, and paid attention to, the lives of utter debasement these ‘chattel’ lived. Their hollow, emotionless eyes. I actually apologized to the girl after having my way with her. Guilt piled on guilt, and I knew I had to leave the Abyss. Somehow my very nature had changed, I suddenly _knew_ how much my existence wallowed in evil, and I could not live it any more.”

“One day, in the midst of a rather large-scale conflict between demon lords that I _may_ have had a hand in escalating, I ran. I managed to free a handful of the slave women as I fled to the Worldwound. By luck or fate a few days later, I met a Crusader scouting party led by your great-grandfather. I convinced him to grant me asylum. Soon after, I met your grandmother. The rest of the story, well, you already know much of it. How Shari’s kindness and patience guided me through my redemption.”

Mala nodded, she had always loved listening to her grandfather talk about her grandmother. His love for her ran deep, even now, nearly twenty years since her death.

“You need to know, Mala, that Need is still a core part of my essence, and so, is unfortunately part of the demonic blood your father, and then you, inherited from me. It is more than simply a need for sexual gratification, though that by itself can quiet the Need for a short time, it also has an emotional component that needs to be satiated. In the Abyss it was assumed that the Need was best fulfilled with a sexual encounter charged with violence, domination, coercion or fear. But in truth, any strong emotion works, caring, kindness, and especially love work just as well.”

“And you think I’ll have this ‘Need’ too?” Mala asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, it is very likely. Doubly so since Calden said your mother had Succubus blood. Your father has told me he developed the Need when he was about sixteen years old, soon after Shari was killed and he ran away from the temple. I had not ever had a very in-depth talk with him, never completely gave him all the strategies I had for dealing with the Need.” Jazeel sighed and hung his horned head in sadness and shame. “I made so many mistakes raising your father. At least Shari’s lessons of respect and kindness were there to keep him from becoming a monster.”

“How can I control it?” Mala asked, “I do not want to _ever_ again lose control of myself like I did today.”

“Well,” Jazeel sighed, lifting his head to look at his granddaughter, “the ‘tea’ I drink is an herbal concoction Shari and I discovered in the first months after I left the Abyss. It is somewhat of a suppressant, it reduces the physical urge, but even it cannot keep the Need from slowly building.”

“So, how do I deal with it?” Mala asked, wrinkling her nose as she remembered the slightly acrid smell of her grandfather’s tea.

“Find a partner, or a friend you trust,” Jazeel answered matter of factly. “Someone that you care for, and cares about you, the emotional part is just as important as the physical.”

“--and have sex with them when I Need it?” Mala replied, with a raised eyebrow.

“Basically… yes.”

“I doubt I’ll find anyone that would be willing to do that.” Mala snorted. “Most people outside the temple are scared of me.”

The corner of Jazeel’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Oh, I’m sure there's somebody out there for you. You’ll be alright.”

“If you say so, pa-pa.”


	3. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mala and her new companions are sent on a dangerous mission, leaving Ben behind to worry.

“Take a seat and be patient, young friend,” instructed Aravashnial from his seat by the hearth. His eyes were closed in meditation. “Do you intend to wear a rut in the floor?”

It had been over six hours since Mala and her companions left the Hero’s Rest Inn with instructions to use a dangerously powerful magic item to destroy Kenabres’ Wardstone, an artifact that had been created by angels. Hopefully they would succeed before the cultists holding the artifact could corrupt it and use it for evil. Bengard could not sit still, not until Mala was back and he knew she was safe.

“I should have gone with them--” Bengard began to mutter, for the fifteenth time that day.

“We have discussed this already,” the elven wizard interrupted. “They are likely to be fighting their way through demons and cultists to reach the cracked Wardstone. Would you be more of a help or a hindrance to them?”

Ben sighed and sat down on the hearth beside the wizard. The elf had been a mentor since Ben had wandered into his domain, the Raven’s Wing Library, a few years before. The young human’s keen mind had impressed Aravashnial immediately.

“Probably a hindrance. I’m no warpriest.” The scholar raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “But I promised Master Jazeel I would protect her.”

“Indeed? Is that what he actually asked you to do?” Aravashnial inquired, turning to study the young human’s suddenly chagrined expression.

“Not exactly,” Ben admitted. “He told me to ‘be there when she needs me’.”

“Ah.” Aravashnial closed his eyes and resumed his meditative pose. “She will need you, and you will be there, be patient. Jazeel is a wise being, and knows his granddaughter well.”

Bengard’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did _you_ know he is a--?”

“An incubus? Yes.” Aravashnial replied with a slight smile.

“Gods, did everyone but me know?” The Scholar dropped his hands into his lap and leaned back, his head thunking against the hearthstones.

“No,” the elf laughed. “Just the ones who know him well and have paid attention over many, many years.”

Ben pondered in silence for a few minutes, then sighed again. “When would Malakh’mu’baraka ever need me, Aravashnial? She, ‘angel-blessed one’. She doesn't need anyone's help, she's so strong, and... self-sufficient--.”

A shout from the group of meditating magi across the room interrupted Bengard:

“It’s failing! The Wardstone field is collapsing, they’ve done it!”

Subdued cheers erupted, but abruptly fell silent as Bengard felt a sudden massive surge of mingled divine and arcane energy explode across the city. The explosion echoed along the path of the Wardstone network towards the other cities and garrisons that contained Wardstones.

“What was that?” Bengard asked, rushing to the window to look towards the keep. There was no visible change to the city skyline or atmosphere, but there was a subtle feeling of... exposure. The recently weakened protective barrier that had held off the demons for over 80 years was completely gone.

“I do not know,” replied one of the mages. “Hopefully we will have a report soon.”

“If anyone's alive to give it.” Bengard murmured worriedly.

\---

Roughly an hour later, a commotion of voices and horses was heard outside. A booted foot kicked open the door and two armored women entered the inn. The half orc woman in full plate staggered slightly as the slightly less armored tiefling she was supporting stumbled and nearly fell across the threshold.

“What happened?” A mage asked, the others flooding her with questions of their own.

“Give me a minute, dammit.” Irabeth growled, then looked straight at Bengard. “You, come help.”

Bengard quickly and unapologetically pushed his way through the small crowd of magi.

“Get her somewhere she can rest,” Irabeth instructed as Ben slung Mala’s other arm over his shoulder. “The rest of them are at the sorceress’ family’s inn up the street. Mala insisted on coming back here. Take her, I’ve got a report to make.”

Ben felt Mala’s body trembling and twitching inside her armor as Irabeth transferred her to his support. She attempted to speak, but Ben shushed her.

“In a minute, Mala, let's get you to a room, OK?”

Ben half led, half carried her down the hall to his small room. He had been assigned it earlier that week when he volunteered to help on Irabeth’s council of researchers. He led Mala to the bed where she sat down heavily and fumbled at the straps of her helm.

“I got it, relax,” Ben said, pulling her armored hands away and working on undoing the strap himself. Mala switched to tugging off her gauntlets. Her armor was liberally splattered with blood and demonic ichor. At the same time Bengard pulled off her helmet and froze in shock, Mala got her gloves off and stopped to stare at her hands.

“Dawnflower’s Light, Mala, what happened to you?” The scholar gasped. The paladin’s body was emitting a soft white light, illuminating the dark room.

“Huh, hands still glowing...” Mala mumbled and shuddered again. Her hands clenched into fists as her body seized. Bengard tossed the helm aside and reached for Mala’s hands. As his skin touched hers, a surge of energy rushed from her into himself. His hair stood on end, and his own skin shimmered. As that happened, however, Mala’s muscles relaxed, and her trembling decreased noticeably.

“Your hair is glowing, too,” Ben remarked. He ran a hand through what used to be dark auburn tresses. “It's… turned white.”

Mala tried to say something, but was overcome with another bout of violent trembling. Bengard hurried to continue working on the straps and buckles of the rest of Mala’s armor, tossing pieces carelessly aside as he went. After some fumbling and curses, and what help Mala could provide between shudders, they got her stripped down to her base layer of clothing. Ben noticed the glow waxed and waned somewhat. It grew stronger at the same time her trembling worsened, and lessened whenever his skin came into contact with hers.

“Can you tell me what happened, Mala?” Bengard asked, taking her hand (the energy rushed into him again, her trembling lessened). He helped her lie down on the bed, pulling a blanket around her.

“Maybe I can figure out how to help.”

Mala slowly recounted the events since leaving Hero’s Rest that morning. Their reconnaissance of the keep, the whirlwind battle through the corrupted halls. Ending with a fight with a half-demon Minotaur and the cultist cleric of Baphomet who were guarding the stolen Wardstone. Then, the violent magical explosion when the Rod of Cancellation touched the Stone.

“The next thing I know, there was a flash and I was seeing a vision of the Wardstones being created. Iomedae’s Herald was there, directing it. Then, I saw the network of other Wardstones getting set up in the other keeps around the Worldwound. Then, I saw the Kenabres stone getting cracked a few years ago. Then, I could see what was happening right that moment to all the other Wardstones. They were exploding, one by one, and the power they held was rushing back along the pathway to the Kenabres stone. But it had been shattered, so the power went into... _us_. We started shining, all our wounds from the fight healed. It was like channeling Sarenrae’s light, but thousands of times stronger, it was almost painful.” Mala shuddered again. “Then the babau demons started flooding into the room through a portal. We fought them off and somehow closed the portal before a balor got through.”

“It's a miracle you are alive," Bengard announced. "That much thaumaturgical energy could have burned your soul from your body!”

He stood and started pacing in agitated thought. “Aravashnial warned the council that it was a possibility, but so much of our calculations were theoretical already… No one’s tried to use a Rod of Cancellation on an artifact like the Wardstone before.”

“Ben,” Mala called weakly, reaching out for his hand again.

He was too preoccupied to hear her. “I don't know how we didn't calculate the possibility of thaumaturgical feedback of this magnitude.”

“B-Ben!” Mala called again. The whirlwind of energy within her was causing her to shake and twitch again. “H-holding m-m-my hand w-was helping.”

“Oh, right, it was, sorry.” Bengard returned to her side and took her hand once more. He frowned and stroked his thin beard.

“Theoretically... increased, um, skin-to-skin contact could help the bleed-off effect.” Ben postulated nervously. “If you want to try it, I could, uh, take off my tunic and, um...”

“Just s-shut up and h-hold me, Ben,” Mala stuttered with an exasperated sigh. The young scholar quickly stripped to the waist and climbed onto the bed. She settled in, resting against his chest. She sighed as her cheek and the side of her head touched his bare skin, the buzzing pressure of the power faded to a more tolerable level. She rested a bare forearm across his stomach, and he encircled her in his arms, lifting the back of her undershirt and resting his hands flat against the small of her back.

Mala’s trembling faded as the excess energy bled from her into Bengard. He felt a small measure of the overwhelming tempest that had been swirling in her. After a time, she fell into an exhausted sleep. Her body and soul finally processing and absorbing the power.

\---

Some time later, Bengard awoke suddenly to find someone sitting beside the bed. It was too dark to see clearly; which was a good thing, Ben admitted to himself, it meant Mala was no longer glowing like a torch. But he did not know who waited there in the darkness. He tensed, unsure of what he might need to do next.

“How is she?” Asked Irabeth quietly.

“Sleeping,” Ben replied. Relaxing as he recognized the half-orc paladin’s gruff voice. “Beyond that, I don't know. Goddess knows what the long-term effects of this day will be.”

“I will leave you two to rest.” Ben heard the creak of Irabeth’s armor as she stood to leave. “Stay with her, cleric, she will need you.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Ben whispered with an exasperated sigh. “Except for her.”

Irabeth laughed softly. “Eh, we champions of light and truth can be stubbornly independent, and occasionally oblivious. She’ll figure it out, someday. Just be sure to be there when she does.”

Irabeth ruffled Bengard’s hair in a fond big-sisterly fashion before turning to leave the room. “Goddess knows it took me way too long to figure it out with my wife, hopefully it won't take Mala nearly as long. Good night, lad.”

 


	4. The Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heroes of Kenabres (Mala and her companions), leading an army of Crusaders, have re-taken the Citadel of Drezen. Freeing the surrounding area from ten years of demon and cultist control. Mala has been given command of the garrison city by Paladin Queen Galfrey of Mendev (who has moved her base of operations to Kenabres). The Heroes are working on turning Drezen into their new base of operations.

Mala tried, for the third time, to actually read the message on the parchment lying on the desk in front of her. It was from Kenabres, informing her of the troops and supplies Queen Galfrey was sending to Drezen as reinforcements.

The young incubus-blooded paladin just could not focus on mundane tasks, or even somewhat more important ones. The Need had been growing for two weeks now, ever since she had run out of Grandfather's tea concoction. She should have tried to see if Bengard knew the recipe for the suppressant. But that would have meant broaching a topic with him that - for her at least - was still a bit uncomfortable and confusing. Ben probably knew what Grandfather’s tea did, though Mala wasn't sure if Ben knew she often needed it too.

Back home in Kenabres she had a couple people she could turn to, that she trusted and understood her... problem. But they were still in Kenabres. Even if they had been here, she was a lot more high-profile here in Drezen. She was the paladin commander of the recently reclaimed garrison, and she needed to be more circumspect. There was surely an enterprising madam already in the city, setting up shop… No, she needed better guarantees of privacy, and she needed a partner who knew her and somewhat cared for her personally.

There was an option for Mala, but she had been avoiding having _that_ conversation with Bengard too. He was her childhood best friend, who had fallen in love with her, somewhere along the way. She was afraid she would be deceiving him if she brought him into her bed. Leading him to believe she loved him in return, when she was only using him to satiate the Need. It had been two months since Ben’s rambling, passionate confession of love. He had stayed by her side ever since, seemingly content to just... be there. Ben had been waiting respectfully in his kind, quiet way, for her to make the next move. She owed him a response.

But, did she have one to give him? They had been through a lot together in the last few months, from skirmishes in the battlefield to clearing the demons from the very keep she now commanded. Ben trusted her and had faith in her, would she be breaking that trust if she just _used_ him like this? It would certainly break his heart if he found out she had chosen someone else to help her with this. He would see it as a rejection of his love for her, perhaps rightly so.

Too much thought, more action, the Need demanded. Mala stood up from her desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She was starting to feel like if she let this go too much longer she might lose control completely and assault the next person she saw.

Mala opened the door to her quarters. She nearly tripped over a gangly tiefling youth sitting there in the hall in front of her door. He jumped to attention and saluted.

Mala sighed, leaning her head against the door-frame with a _thunk_. It was Ifram, the orphan boy who had become obsessed with becoming Mala’s squire the instant he had learned the city’s new commander was a demon-blooded paladin. The fact that Mala was not even technically a knight didn't matter to him. Ifram was out to prove that he too could overcome the nature of his heritage and be a force for good. There were quite a few demon-spawn children among the residents of Drezen. The populace had been slaves under demon and cultist control for more than ten years. Mala had allowed the boy to join the keep’s staff as a page, but he had a habit of showing up wherever Mala was.

“Ifram, it's past midnight,” Mala groaned. “What are you doing here?” 

“You were still up, m'lady. I saw the candlelight under your door, you might have needed a page.” He responded.

“Well, this time, I do,” Mala said. Ifram’s face lit up with a fanged grin. “Please go tell Master Bengard that I need him, and then _you_ go to bed, I will call for you if I need you, I promise. I do _not_ need you hanging around outside my door all night.”

“Yes, ma'am!” The boy saluted and dashed off down the hall, his somewhat scraggly vestigial wings fluttering behind him.

Mala closed and latched the door; beginning preparations for a night she hoped wouldn't go completely wrong.

\---

It had been ten minutes that felt like an eternity when a knock interrupted Mala’s agitated pacing. She unlatched and opened the door and was met with a stack of books and parchment with Ben’s brown eyes peeking over them.

“Uh, hi Mala,” came the young cleric of Sarenrae’s muffled voice from behind the pile. “Sorry I took a while. Your, ah, page didn't tell me what you were working on this late at night. So I tried to guess. Is there a spot I can set these on your desk?”

“Yes, please,” Mala responded. She crossed her arms, then fiddled nervously with the rune-etched necklace she had donned. “I need to talk to you.”

“I brought everything that I’ve been working on for you,” Ben explained as he deposited the books on the desk. He ran a hand over his short, deep brown hair, then scratched at his still somewhat youthfully thin beard as he paused in thought. He began organizing the stack into piles; his back to the room -- and Mala. “I wasn't sure what exactly you needed--.”

“I need _you_ ,” Mala interrupted. Ben turned around, cocking an eyebrow at the odd, husky tone of her voice.

Mala met Ben's eyes, silently praying she was doing the right thing. She untied the belt of her dressing robe and let it fall open, revealing her body beneath, a sea of naked grey-hued skin, except for her mother's necklace resting just above her breastbone.

She shrugged the robe off her shoulders, letting it hang from the crooks of her elbows. A shudder that wasn't completely from the chilly room ran through her. She felt the tips of her exposed breasts tightening.

Ben stared at her, his mouth going dry, his hands suddenly sweating. He studied Mala in stunned silence, marveling at her shapes, hard and soft all at once. Her arms, legs and stomach were firmly toned from years of training with heavy arms and armor; yet her face, breasts and hips were so softly, beautifully curved. He hadn't really gotten a good look at Mala without heavy armor or padded gear since they were adolescents. Since she had become a woman. They had led totally different lives the past six years, despite all the time they had spent together as children.

As the young human’s gaze roamed across her body, lingering at the place where her thighs met, Mala wondered what he was thinking, desperately wanted him to say _something_ to give her a hint.

“How fascinating!” Ben heard himself mumble, his mind scrambling desperately to process what was going on. “ _All_ of your body hair turned white in the Wardstone overload, does that hair glow when you channel divine energy too?”

Mala rolled her eyes and grabbed a handful of Ben’s robes, yanking him close.

“Gods, Ben, just shut up and _fuck_ me,” she demanded in a breathy whisper and kissed him fiercely. She pressed her naked body against him. She felt his body responding, his manhood hardening, pressing against her thigh.

Ben mumbled nervously as he retreated from her kiss with a gasp of breath. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

“ _Goddess’ Light_ , please tell me you know how...” Mala groaned as she untangled her hands from Ben’s tunic. They moved to unknotting the sash wound around his waist beneath his coat.

“Yes, of-- of course-- um, academically...” The scholar explained. He pulled one arm, and then the other, out of the ankle-length overcoat that was the outermost layer of his clerical garb. He let it fall to the stone floor behind him. “I’ve, ah, read some books about it.”

The overlapping front of Ben’s calf-length tunic came open as Mala tossed aside the sash. She slid her hands across his naturally tan skin, up his sparse dark-haired chest, across the top of his shoulders. She pushed aside the last layer of his clothing, then pulled the tunic down and off his arms.

“Th-there was this Vudrani book--” Ben was rambling, stuttering slightly as shivers ran across his body at Mala's touch. “--It was fascinating, it detailed various positions and techniques, it even had illustrations--.”

“But you’ve never actually _done_ it, have you?” Mala asked, reaching for the drawstring of Ben’s pants, where she could see his growing erection pressing out on the loose fabric.

“I-- no. I never really had the right circumstances, the right -- person,” Ben caught the young woman’s hands between his own and stared meaningfully into her hazel eyes. She was his first, his oldest friend, and the only girl, the only _woman_ , he'd ever thought about that way.

“Me?” Mala asked, startled. “You’ve been ‘saving yourself’ for _me_?”

She had no idea, she certainly hadn't done the same for him.

“Well, not as such,” Ben admitted. He let go of Mala's hands so that he could help her remove his pants and smallclothes. “I just… never had anyone else I was interested in uh, copulating with.”

Mala grabbed Ben’s hand again and pulled him towards her bed. He kicked his sandals to the side and followed.

“Most people say ‘making love’, or ‘having sex’, or maybe ‘fucking’.” Mala explained as she paused at the foot of the bed. She walked around behind the young man, trailing her hand along his stomach and side. She turned him around to face her and gave him a gentle yet forceful shove, pushing him down to lay back across her blanket-strewn bed.

Mala leaned down and kissed the flushed tip of Ben’s cock. He gasped in pleasure. Mala traced a finger along its length, slowly, from the base to the tip, causing the young man to shudder. It wasn't the biggest cock she'd ever seen (that one had been half orc, though, and therefore not very fair to compare an average human to); but it was certainly nowhere near the smallest. Mala wrapped a hand around the shaft, squeezing its solid girth appreciatively. She leaned forward again and uncurled her fingers so she could run her warm tongue from balls to the tip. 

“So, which of those terms will we be using?” Ben asked in a dry whisper. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked down at Mala past his aching erection. He stroked it absently, feeling the dampness left by her tongue’s passing. He watched her straighten up to stand over him at the foot of the bed.

“Oh definitely ‘fucking’,” Mala said breathlessly as she dropped the robe to the floor. She crawled up onto the bed, hands and knees to either side of Bengard’s body, until she knelt astride his hips.

Mala grasped the shaft of his cock once more. She guided him inside her as she lowered herself onto him. A groan of desperately-sought pleasure escaped the tiefling woman’s lips as his body filled hers so completely. The groan was echoed as Ben experienced the exquisite sensation for the first tim. She felt so wonderfully warm and slick as she enveloped him and pressed her hips against his.

Mala began to rock those hips forward and back. Her battle-toned muscles rhythmically clenched and released around his thick shaft. She leaned her hands on his chest, using the leverage to press herself harder against him, forcing his cock deeper and deeper with each movement. Ben began to rock with her, striving to aid her movements. He grabbed her hips, pulling her down against him as he began to drive himself up into her in sudden hard, increasingly urgent thrusts.

“Am I, ah, doing this right?” he gasped after a few minutes, slowing his thrusting for a moment as he spoke.

“Oh, gods, don't stop, I’m almost there!” Mala moaned, continuing her own, almost desperate, movements.

“Almost where?” Ben queried, then suddenly understood. “Oh, climax! I think I’m close, too.”

Mala leaned down and kissed him. She shoved her tongue between his lips, stopping the rambling. He responded with a powerful buck of his hips. He slammed himself into her, nearly smashing her horned head into the headboard of the bed. She grasped it to keep herself steady as Ben partially withdrew, only to quickly slam himself inside her again, and again. Their bodies crashed together in ecstatic waves of motion.

Mala sat back upright and reached down, moving Ben's hands from her hips to her breasts. “Touch me,” she moaned, “squeeze them.”

He complied, fondling the young woman’s almost painfully sensitive flesh as she pressed herself down on him. He bucked into her harder and harder, lifting her into the air with each thrust. Faster and harder the pace increased, until suddenly she peaked. Her body tightened around him as shuddering cries of wonderful release escaped her throat. Her body shook from horned head to prehensile tail, which lashed the air as she spasmed orgasmically. Mala's cries triggered an equal cry from Ben, and with one great final heave he came into her. He panted heavily as his cock twitched, filling her with his seed.

Mala’s panting slowed and became a heavy sigh as she fell forward onto outstretched hands, one on either side of his head. The Need was finally satiated, for now. Ben reached up to caress her flushed grey cheek with a finger as he gave her a somewhat exhausted grin.

“Thank you, Ben,” she gasped breathlessly. She lowered herself off of her shaking arms; dismounting and collapsing on her side beside her friend, her lover. “You have no idea how badly I needed that.”

“Hm, I have an idea,” Ben said, turning to face her. He brushed pure white strands of sweat-dampened hair off of Mala’s face, tucking them behind her pointed ear. “You ran out of Master Jazeel’s tea over two weeks ago, before we even got to Drezen.”

Mala groaned and closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Of _course_ you know about the tea.”

“It's a very distinctive blend of herbs. Well, it is to someone who has studied herbology. I recognized it from the aroma. Master Jazeel explained its use to me as one of my lessons.” Ben spoke matter of factly, somewhat oblivious to Mala’s embarrassment.

“To be fair, I did not know you used it too until I started traveling with you these last few weeks. I just figured, at the time, that Master Jazeel used it because he was a lonely widower who didn't want to have to deal with certain… urges. But knowing what I know now about him, I guess he was having to deal with more than a human would; and, well, it appears he passed it on to you with the other demon-blood traits.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mala whispered, hiding her face behind balled fists. “I should have asked you to make me more. I didn't want to have to explain, so I… went without. Until I just couldn't stand it any more, I was desperate today.” Mala began to ramble, the words tumbling out of her.

“My grandfather called it the Need, a raw, powerful sexual lust that's just... part of incubi and succubi nature. It's something my grandfather, father, possibly my mother (who my father says had succubus blood) and I have all had to suffer with--.”

“Why didn't you call for me sooner?” Ben interrupted. He pulled Mala's hands away from her face, revealing tear-filled hazel eyes. “I would have done this with you any time.”

“I know, I know you would. Because you love me. But I don't know if I really love you too, or if it's just my demon-blood lust reacting to the easiest target.” Mala confessed bitterly. “I didn't want to deceive you. To lead you to believe I felt the same when I really don't.”

“Mala, look at me,” Ben said firmly, lifting the young woman’s chin. She looked up into his deep brown eyes.

“Do you care about me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied through her tears. “You are my oldest and dearest friend.” 

“Do you put my well-being equal to your own?” He continued.

“Sometimes above.” Mala snorted quietly, remembering an instance just a week before on a bridge at the outskirts of Drezen. Standing over Ben’s unconscious smoldering body as she faced down a coven of cultists who had just dropped a fireball on Ben and his horse. He, for some reason, had decided to follow her into the fray rather than stay safely back with the other medics.

“Well, what then is romantic love, at its core, besides lust for someone tempered with genuine caring?” Ben queried, kissing Mala’s balled-up fists.

“I... I’ve never really thought about it like that.” Mala mused, sniffling. “When did you get so insightful?”

“Since you gave me that magic headband we found while clearing the keep,” Ben replied with mock seriousness. “It's got me making all kinds of deep, perceptive observations.”

Mala gave him an incredulous look.

Ben laughed and kissed Mala’s raised eyebrow. “I’m kidding. Actually, that was one of your grandfather’s lessons. Master Jazeel and I had several in-depth conversations about the nature of love, and lust, and romantic relationships.”

“It was musings like that which put him on the path to redemption decades ago.” Mala explained. “Thoughts and research that explored the nature of love versus lust, and caring about other creatures; things that other incubi just didn't understand. I never really had the time or patience for having deep philosophical conversations with grandfather,” Mala admitted. “Just lectures on coping strategies and advice for staying out of trouble that he forced me to sit through. I’m glad he had the chance to share those insights with someone.”

“Well, that is why he told me to stay with you, because you would need me at some point--,” Ben suddenly stopped, then clapped a hand to his forehead and rolled onto his back, groaning.

“What?” Mala asked in concern, lifting herself up on an elbow to look down at him. “What's wrong?”

“Your grandfather... is too damn crafty for his own good.” Ben grumbled. “He told me to stay with you, because you needed me, whether you realized it or not. There would be a time that you would desperately need someone you could trust and rely on, and I needed to be there for you.”

Ben sat up on the bed, running his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. He absently scratched his lightly bearded chin in chagrin as he continued. “I’ve been rushing into danger needlessly to make sure I’m -- literally -- there beside you. I've been working long hours into the night to make sure I have researched all the information you might need from me. But what you needed, when you actually called for me, what Master Jazeel _knew_ you’d need, was this.” Ben laughed sardonically, “Not my brain, not my divine spells, but my convenient cock.”

“Bengard of Kenabres,” Mala said in a scolding tone. She sat up and wrapped her arms around Ben's chest, resting her head against the back of his shoulder. “You're more than just that to me, and you know it. You are definitely more than that to our team. No one else has such an extensive knowledge of demonkind as you. Your protective wards have saved us from mental possession and who knows what else.”

Mala's tone softened. “Besides, this Need my kin suffer, you need to know: it takes more than a handy fuck to satiate it for long. It needs strong emotion, preferably from a partner who we trust and care for, and who cares about us. And you've just quieted it the best that _anyone_ ever has before.”

“I understand Mala, I do.” Ben replied, covering her hands with his own and giving them a squeeze. “I just can't help feeling stupid for the times I’ve jeopardized the group by thinking so literally.”

“It drives me crazy sometimes, Ben,” Mala sighed. She grabbed a warm blanket from the foot of the bed and gently pulled him to lay down with her beneath it. “But that's one of the things that I love about you, your analytical, methodical, sometimes far too literal mind.”

Ben lay down facing Mala and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She snuggled closer and twined a leg and her slightly barbed tail around his near leg.

Ben stiffened. “That… was kind of disturbing, love.”

“What?” Mala said drowsily, the stress and strain of the past few weeks was finally easing a bit, letting her relax.

“Your, ah, tail, wrapping around my leg.” He replied.

“Well, get used to it, you're going to be feeling it a lot more.” Mala murmured, bringing the tip of her tail up to gently poke her lover’s bare backside.

“Yes ma’am.” Ben whispered. He kissed Mala’s forehead, just between her curving demon horns. He trailed a finger down the side of her face, along the curve of her neck, until he ran into the thin cord of braided leather looped around her neck. He traced his finger down along its length.

This necklace, he had seen it before. She had always been somewhat quick to hide it or deflect questions about it. There were two pendants strung on the cord. One was a simple wooden ankh, a common symbol of Sarenrae in rural farming communities.

The second pendant was a decorative fired clay piece with a spiral stamped into it. He lifted it, examined the back, and deciphered the runes stamped there. Suddenly he better understood why Mala may have been reluctant to show it. They inscribed a charm that prevented pregnancy. She may very well have been leaving to or returning from a visit with a paramour those times he had seen it, and had been embarrassed.

The scholar whispered the orison that allowed him to see magical auras. The necklace glowed dimly, especially against the the blaze of Mala's own power.

“Still working?” Mala asked. Ben glanced up at her eyes, she was fully awake and watching his inspection intently.

“Yes, the enchantment is still effective.” Ben smiled, letting the pendant fall back down against Mala’s breast.

“Good, I’ve meaning to get it looked at.” Mala mused. She lifted the wooden ankh, turning it between her fingers absently. “My father gave it to me the last time I saw him. It originally belonged to my mother, it's the only thing we have of her.”

“What irony,” Ben chuckled.

“What, that the only thing I have from her is the one thing that she obviously _wasn't_ wearing at the first most crucial moment of my existence?” Mala quirked a smile. “Yes, I thought it was a bit funny myself when my father told me what the charm did.”

“Well, then, I am eternally grateful for her one-time negligence.” Ben whispered, wrapping his arm again around his best friend, and (at last) lover.


	5. 7 Years Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Mala's early combat training.

“Be vigilant, Malakyah,” the instructor scolded in her thick Kelish accent. She slapped her practice sword against the 13-year-old tiefling girl’s unprotected side for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. “Deflect my blades, use your scimitars to both defend and attack!”

Mala’s eyes blurred with tears as she fought to coordinate both of the practice scimitars she wielded. She had been studying basic swordplay for a couple years now, but this was her first week of solo advanced training with the dervish mistress. Mala just could not execute the deft movements Mistress Atiyeh was trying to teach her.

Another stinging blow landed on her lower back, sending a shock down her spine. Mala swore in frustration as her demonic tail spasmed. I nearly tripped her up as she tried to retreat.

The instructor stepped back, giving her student a curt nod. “Time for a break, go, get us a drink.”

As her student went off to the cistern to fetch a pitcher, the teacher sighed and stomped to a bench at the edge of the sparring grounds. She placed her wooden scimitars on the bench and worked to re-secure her grey-streaked black hair, which had been escaping in loose sweat-soaked tendrils.

In the midst of the nearby gardens, Jazeel stood up from where he had been -ostensibly- weeding a bed of medicinal herbs. He mostly had been watching the pair on the sparring grounds.

“Mala is truly trying her best Atiyeh.” The temple herbalist commented as he approached the edge of the sparring ring.

“That is certain,” Atiyeh sighed, tucking a strand of hair into the tight braid forming as her fingers twisted. “Your granddaughter has no lack of determination, but she just does not have her father’s dexterity.”

Jazeel shook his finger at his old friend. “You know as well as I do the error of expecting something to be a certain way because of its heritage.”

“Too true, too true, Jazeel,” the dervish mistress replied with a knowing smirk. She had known for many years that her friend only appeared to be human. That he was in truth a demon, an incubus who had been redeemed nearly 30 years ago through his own efforts and the love and kindness of Shari, Atiyeh’s late cousin.

“I do admit, though,” Atiyeh continued. “I had dreamed to have another student as adept as your son Calden was. He was one of the best dervishes I have had the privilege to train. Once I broke him out of the habits his grandfather and those Iomedaean swordmasters had taught him, that is. Strapping his off-hand to a heavy shield like that, such a waste of his talents!”

Jazeel nodded absently, he had listened to that particular rant many times over the past twenty years.

Mala returned with a jug of water. The swordmaster drank, then retrieved her wooden scimitars.

“Back to the center, Mala, defend yourself.”

Mala’s shoulders slumped. Her horned head drooped as she returned to the center of the ring. Then she paused. Forcibly banishing her discouragement, the demon-blooded girl whispered a prayer to Sarenrae, squared her shoulders and fell into a ready stance. She drew in a deep breath and nodded.

“I am ready, Mistress Atiyeh.”

The swordmistress charged, swords whirling. Mala tried again to deflect the swords, to dance out of the way as she had been taught. She was still not fast enough. Atiyeh pressed the attack, Mala frantically retreated backwards. She reached the edge of the sparring ring and tripped over the low wooden barrier, falling into the garden area.

“Mala,” Jazeel called out, making his way towards her. He stopped when the girl furiously threw aside her off-hand sword. She hooked the handle of a nearby compost bin lid with the tip of her prehensile tail, flipping the wooden plank up into her empty hand. Mala raised the lid in front of her, blocking the swordmistress’ next swipe. Then she slammed it towards her attacker’s feet, causing Atiyeh to dance backwards. Mala took the chance to scramble to her feet.

“What is this? Improvisation, ah?” The swordmistress taunted. “What do you think you will do with this?” 

“I will defend myself!” Mala announced.

“You think so? Let us see.”

Atiyeh attacked, and each time, Mala’s improvised shield was there. She turned the blades aside, or, more often, simply withstood the blows: absorbing the shock into the shield, down her arm and into firmly planted feet. The more blows the girl blocked, the more confident she became.

The swordmistress dropped one of her swords and shifted to a two-handed grip on the remaining practice scimitar, putting even more strength behind her blows. Mala continued to stand her ground.

Jazeel watched, impressed with his granddaughter’s strength and fortitude. He began to notice something else: a faint glow, as if the sun were shining a little brighter upon the girl as she fought.

With a loud crack, Atiyeh's practice scimitar shattered against Mala’s improvised shield. The instructor stepped back, breathing hard, squinting as she too noticed the aura of light surrounding the tiefling girl.

“Very good, Malakyeh, well done! A defender, to be certain. Yours is not to dance into the fray, but to stand strong and protect your companions. Now, give your grandfather back his garden tools. We will see about getting you a true practice shield, and a trainer more suited to your talents.”

Mala stumbled towards Jazeel, holding out the battered lid with a somewhat shaky grip, “Did you see me Pa-pa? Did you see what I did?”

As she approached, Jazeel could feel a power emanating from her. A strength of purity that stirred his soul and lifted his heart even as it grated against those parts of his being that still retained his demonic essence. Had he been in his true form instead of his human guise, the aura would likely have been difficult to bear. He took the bin lid and tossed it aside as he embraced his exhausted, but elated, granddaughter.

“I did indeed, Mu’baraka, I saw it all.”


	6. In the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heroes of Kenabres have chased a lead down into a demi-plane of the Abyss. They need information, and don't like where they're going to have to get it.

The young paladin of Sarenrae collapsed into a chair. It was far too opulent for her taste, and the fine wood would probably be marred by the edges of her mithral plate armor. She was too exhausted to care. It had been a long day, or, what passed for a day in the eternal dusk of this demiplane of the Abyss. She and her companions had been wandering through it for nearly a week.

“How did we get ourselves into this mess, Ben?” Mala asked, half rhetorically, as she reached for the left shoulder buckle of her breastplate.

“Well, we've been tracking down the source of the Nahadrian crystals that have been causing havoc in the lands surrounding the Worldwound.” The scholar responded as they fell into the now familiar routine of helping one another with the harder to reach buckles of each other's armor. His lightweight mithral chain was much less complex than the myriad pieces of her full plate, so they usually started with hers.

“We’ve crossed through the portal the crystals were being brought through, and closed it from this side.” Ben continued as he lay aside a neck piece.

“Right, and now we're stuck in the Abyssal demiplane of Nocticula, Queen of Succubi. Attempting to get noticed by her so we can gain an audience." Mala grumbled, yanking her feet out of her boots. "All so we can talk to her about the crystals someone has been mining and exporting right under her nose.”

“But gladiatorial arena combat?” Mala sighed, standing and pacing across the fantastically plush carpet. “I don't even know why I agreed to sign up, I know next to nothing about fighting to impress a crowd, and even less about what a crowd in this dark place would want to see. I would expect them to hate us even more if I were to win. Besides, the main opponent there? An average incubus is hardly a challenge for me anymore, even one with four arms.”

“From what I’ve read, gladiatorial combat in our plane relies on showmanship as much as prowess.” Ben responded, starting to unlace portions of his own armor. “We could ask Arushelae, she might have gone to see the Arena when she lived here.”

_Shae?_ Mala called mentally. She reached out to the corner of her mind where her mental link to the redeemed succubus lay.

_I’m here, hon’,_ came Shae’s mental voice, _what do you need? You sound upset_.

_Mala entered herself into the Arena combats tomorrow._ Mala heard Ben answer, and knew Shae had linked the three of them as she often did when they spoke together.

_Ah,_ Shae replied. _Yes, that's potentially a way to gain Nocticula’s notice_.

_I have no idea what I’m doing._ Mala sighed as she continued pacing.

Shae laughed. _Kick demon ass, be yourself, but as over the top as possible. Do every big bright shiny demon-smiting paladin thing you can do._

_But what if--_ Mala began.

_Hang on, you two,_ Shae interrupted, _that cute little farmboy warpriest is calling for me._

_Is Gerhild in trouble?_ Mala asked, stepping quickly to where she had left her scimitar.

_No, he and your other companions have found something..._ Shae responded distractedly, _in the slave market…_

_ The WHAT? How did they end up there?  _Ben mused. Their companions were supposed to be investigating other ways of gaining Nocticula's notice. With a side goal of at least being seen wandering around the Abyssal city. The Heroes were already becoming well known among the demonic forces around the Worldwound, which were being led by one of Nocticula's rival demon lords. 

_No time, dear._ Came Shae’s hurried answer, _will explain when I can, be back with you soon._

 

“Well, that was abrupt,” Ben mused as he continued to undo the buckles on his own armor. “I wonder what's going on.”

“Shae will let us know if we're needed I guess.” Mala grumbled.

Mala continued to pace the room. There was more than just the Arena challenge tomorrow that was setting her on edge, it was this… establishment. She had agreed with Shae’s assessment earlier that day that a high-class brothel like this was the most secure, and certainly the most discreet, place to stay. But the aura here, the pervasive musk of over-perfumed bodies, their wares on constant display, enticing and inviting… But more than this building, it was this city, this entire demiplane. It grated against her soul, yet at the same time, tugged on it. It was urging a part of her to the surface that she continually tried to bury. It was chaos, it was darkness, and it fed into the Need.

 

Ben suddenly found himself yanked towards, and then shoved down on top of, the large overstuffed bed that took up the majority of the suite.

“Oh, we're uh, doing this now, ok.” He gasped as his companion landed on top of him, sitting astride his hips. “Can we uh, finish getting my armor the rest of the way off first? It will be a little more comfortable…”

“Need you, _now_.” Mala growled, her eyes were starting to glow with a fiery red cast. Ben had seen it happen a few times before, but it had so far only been when she was really angry. He'd certainly never seen it during sex before. Though he did admit to himself that he certainly hadn't fully explored every sexual practice with his partner. It had only been a few months since their first time together, and only a few weeks since they had added Shae’s occasional… involvement. Shae had needed an outlet for the same Need Mala suffered. Mala had decided it was better to help the redeemed Succubus themselves than let her fall to preying on random citizens of Drezen.

“Are you OK, Mala?” Ben asked in concern. She was furiously working at the buckles and laces of the remaining layers of both his and her own clothing. She grunted and scrabbled harder, her movements becoming frantic and uncoordinated as her frustration increased.

Ben grabbed his tiefling lover’s wrists and tried to sit up. He spoke her name soothingly as she struggled with him for a moment. Mala jerked her hands out of his grasp, her eyes suddenly blazing in true anger. She shoved him back down to the bed with one hand and with the other, lashed out and smashed her balled fist into Ben’s face.

“Goddess’ light, Mala!” Ben exclaimed, crying out in pain. He quickly traced a holy spell into the air between them, releasing it with a word of command: “Peace!”

Mala froze, blinking as the red haze faded from her eyes. She stared down at her dear friend, her fist poised to strike him again.

“Oh, gods. Ben.” Mala lowered her arm, unclenching her fist as she stared in horror at the blood flowing from Bengard’s obviously broken nose. She reached towards him, he reflexively raised his arms to ward off another blow.

“It’s OK, I - I’m in control.” She assured him as she scooted back off of him, and off the edge of the bed. She collapsed to her knees on the plush floor, muttering through tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don't know what--.”

“I do,” Ben replied as he slowly sat up. His voice was muffled as he tried his best to staunch the blood running down his face. He slid off the mattress and sat beside Mala, leaning back against the bedframe. “Your demonic blood and its related tendencies are infinitely harder to ignore here. We're in the Abyss, for goddess’ sake, love, we expected there to be _some_ trouble.”

Mala reached over and touched a softly glowing hand to the side of Ben’s face. She felt oddly serene in spite of what had just happened. The bleeding stopped and Ben's nose returned to its usual shape. He caught her hand and kissed it gently, then grabbed a corner of the bedspread and used it to mop up some of the blood.

“Are you OK?” He asked softly.

“I still… _Need_ …” Mala’s voice wavered and trailed off and she turned her demon-horned head away. “But I understand if you don't want--.”

“I will always want you, Malakh’mu’baraka,” Ben whispered, gently turning her face to meet his. “Can you manage to wait until we get the rest of our armor off?”

Mala gave a crooked half-smile and nodded. He kissed her lips, she tasted blood briefly, it caused a small excited flutter in her stomach. Mala shuddered in disgust at that part of herself that had been excited by his pain. Ben stood up to finish divesting himself of his armor. Mala stood up a bit shakily, sniffling gently as she unlaced and removed the remaining layers of her armor. Soon she stood in only her smallclothes.

She turned down the covers on the opulent bed, trying hard to ignore the splatter of blood and the loss of control it signified.

“Are you sure you're OK with this, with... me?” Mala asked, wrapping her arms around herself self-consciously. She shuddered again, despite the odd serenity she was feeling. The wild desperation she felt only a few moments before was miles away.

“What do you think?” Ben asked, encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. She could feel his wiry muscles across her back, and the hardness of his cock pressing into the base of her spine, where her tail began. He tilted her head to the side and trailed kisses down her neck, from her pointed ear to the tip of her shoulder. The tiefling woman let out a small moan.

Mala twisted around, somewhat reluctantly escaping her lover’s embrace for the moment. She sat back onto the bed, sliding out of her lower smallclothes as she went.

Ben reached over to the nightstand and retrieved an item he had placed there a moment before. He held out Mala’s necklace with the rune etched charm. She gave him a smirk. As always, he was the responsible one, who didn't get too caught up in the moment to remember the protective ward. The last thing they needed right now, (or _ever_ ) was a demon-blooded child conceived in the Abyss. As she put the necklace on, Ben leaned down to kiss her mouth and lift her undershirt, exposing her breasts. Ben gently caressed the modestly-sized orbs, ending with a firm twisting pinch to each nipple that made her gasp. He pushed her back so she lay with her hips at the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off the side of the mattress.

Bengard lifted her knees, spread her legs apart and settled himself to stand between her thighs. Suddenly, his spell of calming faded, and the full force of the frantic, overwhelming Need hit Mala again with breathtaking ferocity. He had started easing his cock into her slowly, but she hooked her strong legs around his lower back and pulled him into her with a cry of desperation.

“Hard! Fast! Take me quickly,” she panted, nearly screaming. “I can't stand it! Do it, NOW.”

He obeyed, pounding into her. He grasped her by the shoulders and moved deeply and forcefully into his lover. She came within seconds, but even as her initial ecstasy faded, she craved more. He continued, her body arched, her hips rose off the bed to meet him with each thrust, and she peaked a second time with a triumphant cry. It wasn't until her third final shuddering climax that he came as well. His cock pulsed within her as he gave a great sigh and leaned over her. Sweat dripped down from him upon her chest and belly.

The scholar grinned down at his holy warrior. “Better now?”

She could only gasp for breath and nod weakly.

Shae's voice entered their minds with a nudge like a gentle cough. _Hey, um, sorry, you two. I didn't want to interrupt, but uh, now that you're done? Your companions are on their way, they should be there soon_.

A knock sounded at the door.

_Or, now._ Shae said apologetically. _Be prepared, this is probably going to be a shock for you, Mala_.


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mala's companions arrive at her door... With something they found in the slave market...

Mala swore under her breath. 

"Just a minute!” Mala called aloud, shoving Bengard off of her somewhat unceremoniously, leaving him to stumble to the washbasin for some cloths as she gathered up the sweaty, bloodied bedding, shoving it in a corner.

Ben tossed Mala a dampened towel and turned to dig some clean clothes out of his bags, which were easier to get into than hers were at the moment. She added her used towel to the pile of bedding and caught the knee-length tunic he tossed her way.

Mala took another quick glance around the room as she wrapped herself in the overlapping Kelish shirt, and quickly tied on a sash to keep the garment closed. She kicked a loose piece of armor out from in front of the door, towards the rest of the pile of her gear.

Mala opened the door. Gerhild (and Lyra, his nearly blind seer companion), stood in the doorway, looking… excited? Apprehensive? Certainly a little embarrassed after seeing her and Ben’s somewhat disheveled appearance.

“Sorry to, ah, bother you two,” the war priest stuttered. Bengard shrugged on a tunic, letting it hang open over his trousers as he joined Mala at the doorway. He peered over her shoulder as Gerhild continued.

“But uh, Lyra told us we needed to follow her, and after a while wandering around, we found someone...”

Gerhild stepped to the side, gesturing to a figure who had been standing behind him. The man was looking away, nervously watching back down the garish hall. He was grey-skinned and had a pair of curving glossy black horns, (one of which was half missing). The horn and a half sprouted from a head of long tangled black hair that was beginning to grey at the temples.

“What's going on? Who--?” Mala began to ask. The part-demon turned at the sound of her voice. His wild red eyes locked with her somewhat confused hazel ones. His eyes widened in shock.

“No," he whispered, shaking his head even as he took a step through the doorway towards Mala. His hand stretched towards her slightly. “Another trick, no more tricks.”

The young paladin watched in concern as the man’s wide-eyed gaze swept her grey-hued skin, her pure white hair, her demon horns.

“Not going to work,” he mumbled. “You can't be--.”

Mala shifted nervously under his scrutiny. Her hastily-wrapped tunic came open a bit at the neck. The tiefling stranger froze with a gasp, staring at Mala’s upper chest, where her mother’s necklace could now be seen. Hesitantly, as with a great effort, he reached out to towards the pendants, but stopped just short of actually touching them. His gaze locked with Mala’s once more. The stranger's mouth twitched, he looked like he was trying desperately to say something. His outreached hand clenched into a fist as he strained. All he could manage was a strangled sob before his eyes rolled upwards and his knees buckled.

As one, Mala and Ben jumped forward and caught the haggard tiefling man. They eased him gently to the floor before he could fall. Ben began inspecting him for injuries.

“We think he's your father.” Gerhild explained, crouching and pointing to the remains of a tattoo on the unconscious man’s inner forearm. There was a faint image of a woman, haloed by the sun, her arms outstretched. The image was obscured beneath a mass of crisscrossing scars.

“He has, well, used to have, what looks like a tattoo of Sarenrae, and he kinda looks like you?” Gerhild continued.

The farmboy-turned-warpriest shrugged apologetically. “There's something wrong with him, when I asked him who he was: his name, his family. He looked like he was trying to talk, but couldn't. When I asked him other things, things about the city, for example, he could talk just fine.”

“I listened to his mind,” came a voice from beyond the doorway. Mala looked up to see Lyra's clouded eyes looking down at her. “When Gerhild talked about you, the demon-blood one felt hopeful, but very concerned and extremely wary of deception.”

_Could he truly be her father, Calden?_  Mala wondered. There were certainly similarities, she admitted as she looked at the man. But they were also similarities she shared with her grandfather. Grandfather had once told her he had sired potentially thousands of tieflings, cambions, and other half-demon spawn during his time in the Abyss. There could be any number of cousins running around down here. But this man had seemed to recognize her necklace, only a handful of people she knew of had seen it before.

“He looks somewhat dehydrated and malnourished,” Ben reported. “But that's recently, the past week or so, he otherwise has excellent muscle tone and good overall health. Though there's a lot of random scars, especially around his neck, wrists and ankles.”

Ben closed his eyes and began to recite a prayer to enable him to detect magical effects.

“So, is it him?” Gerhild asked earnestly.

“I haven't seen my father in seven years,” Mala began. “But--.”

“Oh gods, what a mess.” Bengard whispered in horror. He was staring down at the unconscious tiefling, his eyes following the twisted threads of magic that Mala could never see, much less make sense of. “There's layers upon layers of magical effects on him, divine, arcane, demonic, some I don't even recognize. It's going to take weeks to remove them all, some are so powerful I don't even know if I can dispel them.”

“Do what you can, Ben. Gerhild, help me move him to the couch over there, then tell me everything that happened, Shae said you were in the slave market?”


	8. Calden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mala and Ben investigate the Tiefling who has appeared on their doorstep.

Calden drifted in a haze of mental and emotional anguish. Hoping but fearing that the day had not been an illusion. His various captives over the years had often deceived him with visions of freedom or rescue, building hope and crushing it again and again.

Hismost recent captor had begun torturing him with stories of a tiefling paladin, a champion of Sarenrae. She was reported to be the granddaughter of the incubus heretic Jazeel - his father. His captor had even begun taking on the reported appearance of this young demon-blood paladin and tormenting Calden with unspeakable acts while wearing her form.

Everyday he hoped, and would have prayed, if one of the multiple geas cast upon him had not prevented it, that his daughter was somewhere safe; but from the tales circulating about the “Heroes of Kenabres”, the group was attracting some very powerful attention.

A cool hand touched his head, he became aware of a young man’s voice intoning a prayer to Sarenrae. Calden nearly wept at the sound, he had not heard a prayer to his goddess since the last time he himself had uttered one, an action that had ended with him writhing in pain on a cold stone floor, being compelled to scratch Her image from the flesh of his forearm with his own fingernails.

Slowly a small portion of the dark miasma suffusing him lifted. Calden heaved a shuddering sigh and opened his eyes. Looking around without moving his head too much, he quietly assessed his surroundings.

He was lying on a couch in an over-decorated room that could only be one of the guest quarters at _The Rupture of Rapture_ , a place he had been to before, one of the many places he wished he could forget.

So that part of this day had been real.

A young human with dark hair and deep tan skin, wearing the long Kelish tunic and overcoat favored by Sarenrae’s clerics was crouched nearby. He looked somewhat familiar. Calden wondered, if the young lady truly was his Mala, was this young man the same dark-haired boy his daughter had repeatedly gotten herself into so much trouble beside when she was a child? He did not remember the boy's name at the moment. He did remember that the boy was a quiet deep thinker who would come up with endless clever plans. Plans that Calden’s daughter would listen to eagerly, and then convince the boy to carry them out together, much to the temple and her grandfather’s annoyance.

“There's another effect cleared, goddess knows how many to go.” The cleric was holding a set of wire-rimmed spectacles and rubbing his eyes as he muttered to himself. He replaced his glasses and looked up to see Calden’s red eyes inspecting him.

“Mala, he's awake,” the young man called out, picking up a board and writing implement that had been lying by his feet. He glanced at the gaudy timepiece on the fireplace mantel and quickly scribbled a notation.

Calden started to sit up, but the cleric pressed a lightly restraining hand against his shoulder. “Go slowly, sir, take your time.”

“I’ve wasted too much time,” Calden grumbled, pushing the hand away and sitting upright, the young man apologized and made some inquiry about permission to continue his observations.

“Sure, fine,” Calden mumbled absently, rubbing at an ache in his head. “But don't call me ‘sir’, the only ‘Sir--’.”

Calden’s voice halted, mid-sentence, he swallowed and tried again to speak, but could not. He sighed in frustration and covered his face with his hands, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“The only ‘Sir Calden’ was your grandfather, Sir Calden Lightbringer,” said a young woman's voice. “Is that right?”

Calden twitched, he wanted to look up in surprise and excitement, wanted to confirm her suspicions, wanted to scream and weep and tell her that her voice was so much like her mother’s it made his heart ache. But all he could make himself do was sit up, and look at the young tiefling woman impassively as the scholar scratched his pen across the parchment, recording another observation.

It was truly her, it had to be. The combination of his skin color and demonic horns and ears, with Julene’s hazel eyes; there were shades of his mother in her as well, in the curve of her jaw. He still had no idea what had happened to her auburn hair. He had seen this white-haired tiefling’s image before, but the false ones were never this clear and complex, and none had ever had the necklace she now wore atop a tunic more carefully arranged than it had been earlier.

“I know there is some sort of magical effect preventing you from confirming it,” she said, sitting down on the couch beside him and covering his hand in her own. “But I really do believe that you are Calden, called Calden the Younger; son of Shari, Cleric of Sarenrae, and Jazeel, redeemed incubus. …My father.”

Calden closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to keep himself calmly neutral. He could sometimes break past the enchantments if he tried hard enough, or if an emotional response was strong enough it would break through on its own. But the spell’s backlash was swift and drained him, body, mind and soul. He did not want to lose consciousness again, certainly not now.

“I do not know what you have been through since we last saw each other seven years ago,” Mala said, her voice wavering nervously. “But I imagine that you have doubts about whether I really am who I appear to be, I know I would in your place, and I had doubts about who my friends thought you were, but with your reaction when you saw my mother's necklace, I am convinced.” 

Her fingers fidgeted with the pendants at her neck as she rambled. “I’m glad I happened to be wearing this, I don't wear it all the time, just when I’m--”

Calden heard the young man clear his throat, interrupting his companion.

“Could you, ah, get him a drink, Mala?” The cleric instructed, his voice sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“He's got signs of dehydration,” he explained, a little too quickly. “Please get him a drink?”

“Oh, right.”

The corner of Calden’s mouth quirked towards a grin as she stood to retrieve the drink, but he quickly suppressed it. Calden thought he knew the reason why she would be wearing the necklace, and the activity the couple had been, or were just about to be engaged in, when he was brought to their door. He wouldn't have wanted to be talking about it in front of his lover’s father, either. He was sorry his arrival had interrupted them, but happy that his daughter had someone. 

He wondered suddenly if the couple were married, had he missed his only child’s wedding?

“Well, you think you know who I am,” Calden stated, choosing his words carefully, he was not confirming or denying her assertions about his identity. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, interlacing the fingers of his slender but strong hands. “But who are you? Please tell me about yourselves, I would like to know more about the companions of the people who rescued me from the slave market.”

 

As Mala talked to the tiefling, sharing recent events, Ben continued his observations, taking careful notes about what questions the man could (or would) and could not (or would not) answer. Mala seemed convinced that this was her father, and Ben, having only met the Dawnflower Dervish and far-ranging crusader scout a handful of times in his childhood, had to somewhat rely on her judgement. Yet he maintained a scholarly scepticism. What he did know for sure was that this man had been through hell, metaphorically at least (because this was the Abyss, not Hell, that was a totally different plane of existence), and had the mental and physical scars to prove it.

The conversation, such as it was, was filled with random abrupt silences in response to most of the questions from Mala, with subsequent shifts in topic as the man asked questions that led them down safer paths of inquiry. Bengard suggested during one pause that they call for some food to be brought to the room, as it was past dinnertime, and the man was surely hungry.

As they finished their meal at the small table, Ben was reviewing his notes, there were patterns beginning to emerge. Direct questions about the specifics of the spells binding the man were met with silence or shakes of the head, as were questions concerning who had bound him. Questions meant to confirm his identity were met with a similar silence, and this included, strangely, the ability to speak the names of close friends or family members, even if taken somewhat out of context. Ben had some ideas on further probing.

“Mala, is there something that you possess that your father would recognize, but that not many other people would know that he would recognize?” Ben paused, frowning, “did that make sense?”

“What, something besides my mother's necklace you mean?” Mala sighed. “Because it's not enough?”

“Well, yes.” Ben admitted.

Mala stood up, folding her arms indignantly. “How many people do you think have seen me wearing this?”

“To be honest, I don't know the answer to that.” Ben replied, avoiding Mala’s angry gaze. “Someone you've… been involved with… could have described it to someone else in order to deceive you.”

“To answer your first question, yes, there are a couple somethings.” Mala went over to the to the pile of their combined gear and grabbed something, then rummaged around further into her bags. She located a belt pouch and withdrew an item from it.

“In answer to your second insinuation,” Mala continued, returning to the table. “Very, very, few, and only people I implicitly trusted, like I trust you with this.”

Mala all but slammed a long, curving object onto the table in front of Calden. It was her grandmother’s scimitar. She had entrusted the cherished heirloom to Ben a month before when he began studying swordplay in earnest. He had determined he wanted to be at least able to wield his goddess’ favored weapon without injuring himself. He had never bothered to learn to wield a blade before, his books and research had been much more interesting.

“What can you tell us about this item?” Ben asked, feeling sufficiently  chastised for implying that Mala did not trust him with the truth about her past lovers’ own trustworthiness.

“It is a sword, a scimitar, specifically.” Calden responded hesitantly. “Excellent quality, very old. It has decorative elements tying it to…”

The tiefling’s voice halted, he rubbed at his scarred forearm, “...a goddess.”

“Can you tell us anything about its history?” Ben prodded, marking a few more observations in his notes.

Calden took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength.

“It belonged to…”

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak the words.

“...mother.”

Immediately Calden's head drooped, he looked sick, and wavered woozily in his seat.

Mala braced the tiefling as he began to slide sideways.

Ben studied the magic auras around him again, and looked up at Mala.

“Restoration,” he instructed, and the paladin nodded. She channeled the goddess’ power, tracing a sigil in the air, focusing on shaping the power into a specific divine spell to restore drained vitality. It was a skill she herself had only recently begun to study, with Ben’s help. Swordplay had always been much more interesting than spellcraft.

The divine spell took hold, restoring the energy the dark spells binding Calden had sapped away when he had revealed a personal fact.

“Are you ok?” Mala asked, concern coloring her voice. “Do you want to stop?”

“Better now. No, continue. If this can prove who I am, or help you find a way to fix…” Calden trailed off, getting too close once again to the topics he was magically forbidden to speak of.

“Are you able to draw the sword?” Ben continued.

Calden’s hands twitched, reached out, but stopped.

“No.”

“What if it was unadorned, just a plain scimitar?”

“No, even if the blade had no other significance to me, in my hand, a scimitar would mean something, a symbol.”

“Because it would be a symbol of your training as one of the Dawnflower’s Dervish warriors.” Mala stated, excitedly. “Are you convinced, Ben?” 

“Not completely.” Ben murmured. “Someone still could have coached him on how to recognize this weapon, you and I have both been seen wielding it. Do you have anything else?”

“I do.” Mala sighed. From her pocket, she withdrew a small glass baby bottle.

“What can you tell me about this?” Mala asked, placing it into Calden's hands.

There was silence as Calden tried multiple times to begin to say something, but each time was stopped by the geas, as everything he tried to say would have immediately confirmed or denied something he knew that Mala knew.

“Gift from an angel.” Calden suddenly said, his sudden words seeming to surprise even himself.

“Why were you able to say that and not anything else?” Ben asked.

There was only silence from the tiefling.

“Because I did not know.” Mala whispered. “I was never told that detail about this bottle...”

“Names…” Calden stated, trying to remain neutral and even, but he couldn't help smiling warily, “...have significance.”

"Malakh'mu'baraka" Bengard smiled, and translated the Kelish name aloud: "One who was blessed by an angel."


	9. Back Home in Drezen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of peace back home in Drezen.

Bengard sat in the quiet workroom in Aravashnial's magus tower, carefully etching the next rune into the golden rings he was imbuing with power. The runes had to be done perfectly, or the spell he cast into them would not take hold and he would have to begin this step all over again tomorrow morning. He finished etching the last rune and inspected his work, it looked good, but he wouldn't know for sure until he cast the spell.  
  
Ben stood up and stretched, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a whoosh. He picked up the rings again, sat back down, and leaned forward onto the workbench to began double-checking his work under a magnifying lens. 

A knock sounded at the door behind him.

"Come in." Ben called out.

He continued his detailed inspection as the door opened. He did not hear anyone enter, however, and was just about to turn around to see who was there when there was suddenly a whisper, right next to his ear. The voice was deep, with a deadly edge.  
  
"So, you're making my daughter a ring, are you?" Calden asked.   
  
Ben froze. "Um, yes? For both... of us..."   
  
"Are you sure you're ready for this commitment, son?" Calden's deadly whisper continued. "Are you ready to vow to honor, cherish and protect her?"   
  
"Uh, honestly, sir," Ben swallowed, his throat uncomfortably dry. "The vast majority of the time the magic properties of these rings will be used when _she's_ protecting _my_ sorry ass."   
  
Calden leaned back as he erupted into laughter.   
  
"Ah, too true, lad," Calden chuckled, clapping Ben on the shoulder. "Too true."   
  
The tiefling snagged a nearby stool with his tail and dragged it over to the workbench beside Ben. He sat down and leaned on the table to look at the cleric's handiwork.   
  
"Well, I know absolutely nothing about making magic rings, but they look pretty good to me." 

"Thank you, sir." Ben said quietly, trying to continue his inspection.   
  
Calden's demeanor had improved greatly since being freed from the demonic magic that had constrained him, he seemed to be making up for it by being extremely... exuberant. But then maybe that was just how the man was when not under demonic geas.   
  
"Hey, what did I tell you about the 'sir' thing?" Calden chided, giving Ben a gentle shove. "You don't have to be so formal."   
  
Ben shrugged, unconsciously hunching away. "It's a habit, sir. You're my superior in many ways, you're older, stronger, taller, much more able at combat, plus you're my best friend and lover's father, her hero. You could tear me in half if I crossed you, and she'd be right behind you waiting her turn."   
  
"And the second you threw the right spell at me, none of that would matter," Calden responded, a smile in his voice. "I'd be unconscious, paralyzed, or even suddenly fighting on your side against my will."   
  
Calden rolled an etching tool back and forth under his fingers on the workbench top. "Do you think I was a prisoner in the Abyss for all those years because my captors were better fighters?"   
  
Ben shook his head.   
  
"You are stronger than you know, Ben, just in different ways than me, or Mala. You are my equal in capability, and you need to remember that. You are powerful, and you are absolutely deserving of having my daughter as a wife."   
  
Ben felt happy at the man's assessment of his worthiness, but shook his head. "But will _she_ want to make that commitment with _me_?"   
  
Calden leaned in towards the young man, pointing a finger at him in emphasis.   
  
"You never know until you ask," the tiefling turned the gesture towards his own chest. "And you have my permission, my blessing, and my encouragement. _Do it_."   
  
Calden stood and started towards the door, but paused at the doorway.   
  
"You never know what the future will bring, Ben, don't wait. I lost Mala's mother because I waited, because I wanted to make sure circumstances were just right. If I hadn't delayed, she might still be alive. Please don't wait."

 


End file.
